Mercy and Other Useless Things
by Viridescent
Summary: "Be quiet, Bella. I shall deal with you in a moment." ...there was only one servant to return from the Ministry that night, only one who could suffer the full weight of Voldemort's wrath.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So, maybe I'm getting a little too _"ooooh, new shiny toy, let's play!"_ by posting a second story so quickly... Eh. So what. I'm doing this for me :)

This is my first attempt at a looksee into Voldemort (rather than Tom) and Bella. I start at this point because this was one of the most powerful moments in the book for me, when it came to trying to understand these two (save Bellatrix's death). No, I'm not suggesting that Bella's love was ever requited - even if I can imagine a bit of meaningless sex happening. But I would like to believe that Voldemort probably had a more powerful reason to go to the Ministry that day than just to kill Harry. I want to believe that he risked it all to collect his most loyal servant... and this short story will detail the aftermath of the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.

Also **DISCLAIMER:** This will be the only one I will post for the story. I own nothing, no characters, no locations, no nothing. All belongs to JKRowling, Warner Bros. and any other affiliates that I cannot think of right now. All that I own is my original ideas which do not appear in the original series. Also.. none of the dialogue in this chapter is mine, but the actions are original (as much as any fiction can be original these days).

* * *

"Come out, come out, little Harry!" The boy had the audacity to chase her, and Bellatrix would seem destroyed, just like she had finally put down her disgraceful mutt of a relation. Another soul struck from the earth, just as her aunt had struck them from the family tree. "What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin!"

"I am!" came the returned shout from the boy, which echoed around the large Atrium, and she could hear the emotion eating in his throat. It was pathetic. A maniacal laugh escaped the murderess' lips. "Aaaaaah… did you love him, little baby Potter?"

"Crucio!" The schoolboy clumsily fired the curse at her and Bellatrix screamed, though it was a more out of shock, than actual pain. The force of the spell caused her to fall from her feet- she was already back on her feet, but she was not down for long, forcing herself back up to face the Boy Who Lived. She was no longer laughing.

"Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?" she yelled as Harry ducked behind a statue of a wizard, which took her counter-curse for him. She had abandoned the mocking tone. "You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain - to enjoy it - righteous anger won't hurt me for long - I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson-"

Dark orbs spied the movement of the boy from behind the statue, and she stole the chance, "Crucio!" The curse missed, and frustration welled up inside her as she watched only the inanimate statue suffer from her efforts.

"Potter, you cannot win against me!" she cried, desperate to leave her mark upon the boy. He was moving as she did, each orbiting the statue, one prey, the other… predator. "I was and am the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little boy, can never hope to compete-"

"Stupefy!" The boy really was delusional, if he thought such a spell would stop, or even slow her. Fury mounted as she was interrupted, and her own counter was lightning fast against him. Save for the lazy flick of her wrist, the witch did not otherwise move against the spell flung at her.

"Protego!" She reacted so fast that the boy barely had any time to duck, and the jet of red light (his own stunning spell) bounced straight back at him. It was the smallest satisfaction that Bellatrix took as she watched the little boy scurry back behind his hiding place, weakling that he was. But she was growing bored now. "Potter, I'm going to give you one chance! Give me the prophecy - roll it out towards me now - and I may spare your life!"

"Well, you're going to have to kill me, because it's gone!" Bella was horrified to hear the reply as the boy's laugh mirrored an insanity close to those she had often heard in the wizarding prison.. "And he knows! Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it's gone! He's not going to be happy with you, is he?"

"What? What do you mean?" Bellatrix cried, unable to stop the fear and uncertainty that crept into her voice. For the briefest of moments, she cursed herself for allowing her brother-in-law the control, for not dealing with the situation and taking the prophecy from the off. But… no. The boy had to be lying.

Yet he continued with his bold claims, further inciting her to rage, alloyed with barely controlled terror. "The prophecy smashed when I was trying to get Neville up the steps! What do you think Voldemort'll say about that, then?"

"LIAR! YOU'VE GOT IT, POTTER, AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME! Accio prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY!" But the boy only laughed, that same, manic laugh, and she was incensed further. The seed that had been planted had grown, and taken hold in her mind. He was telling the truth. The bright green light that flew at the statue he was hiding behind from her wand was in stark contrast to the red that darkened her vision.

"Nothing there!" Harry shouted as he shied away, once again, from her violent attempts at ending the boy. His voice echoed terribly around the room, sounds that Bella did not want to hear once, let alone repeatedly. "Nothing to summon! It smashed and nobody heard what it said, tell your boss that!"

"No!' she screamed, and she felt in her bones that what he said was the truth. She stepped forward, unconsciously intent on making the boy suffer, even as she continued to shout, "It isn't true, you're lying! MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED - DO NOT PUNISH ME-"

"Don't waste your breath!" yelled the boy, and he must have seen her movements, for he edged further, forever keeping a protective barrier of gold-coated metal between them. "He can't hear you from here!"

"Can't I, Potter?" Bellatrix's blood ran cold as she heard her Lord's dangerously calm voice echo through the hall. Tall, thin and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupilled eyes staring . . . Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his wand pointing at his nemesis. For the moment, his servant was ignored.

"So, you smashed my prophecy?" The Dark Lord spoke softly, staring at Harry with those pitiless red eyes. The breath that the female had been holding was finally released as he master spoke to him. "No, Bella, he is not lying… I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind… months of preparation, months of effort… and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again…"

"Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!" There was no shame that Bella could bring herself to acknowledge, much less care about, as she flung herself down at The Dark Lord's feet. Then, amidst the panic that was threatening to tear her apart, she remembered. Dumbledore. She had to warn him. "Master, you should know-"

"Be quiet, Bella," interrupted Voldemort quietly, commanding her instant obedience with the more threat of his presence, rather than any overt action. "I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your snivelling apologies?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: 'Kay. Chapter two. Feeling slightly unloved at the moment... Would really love some feedback on my writing, even if all you have to say is that I'm rubbish. I hope that's not the case, though. love to hear I'm not that happy with this, it was hard to get all my thoughts across and maintain the erratic mindset of Bella at this stage. I'm a big fan of sentence fragments to do this, but it didn't work... Anyone has any advice, would .

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

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The Azkaban escapee paced the room, her footsteps making her cross from one side of the room to the other. She had been pacing mostly in front of the only door into the room and she could have sworn that, if the floor wasn't wood, she would have by now worn a track into it.

She lifted a hand to tug through her ebony brindled locks as a continuous growl stayed upon her lips. Her ribs ached every time that she turned, a result of the crushing pressure of the golden-coated statue that had held her at bay in the Ministry. But she didn't let that stop her pacing, for it was her pacing that kept the urges to rip into anything available and breakable, away.

The Slytherin stopped by the door once again and she tried the knob, finding it locked still. Why had he locked her in? Why did this man care enough to lock her in? But a small voice told her that he didn't care. Or... he did. Just not in the way she so craved.

It was a point of immense pride for the Black heiress that she had been singled out by her master for refinement of her substantial skill and power. She knew that her loyalty was unrivalled. And he knew it too.

But her display of that loyalty was utter failure.

Her master had side-long apparated with her into the room and promptly vanished. All that had been uttered aloud had been from her lips, where her master had remained silent. That, if anything, had frightened her more. She had felt the waves of fury radiating from his form. But... where she would normally associate such sensations with blistering heat, it was no so with her master.

No. It had bed cold. Uncomfortably so. Like ice. She shivered at the memory, at the unnaturalness and uncertainty. Bellatrix was hurting, both physically and emotionally. She had once been told that Voldemort had no use for incompetence. It was her poor judgement which caused the Dark Lord's ire. That, more than anything else, was cutting away at her.

She wanted to lash out, to kill something and taste the crimson blood as it spilled from its vessel. Even the satisfaction of having culled and removed another unworthy member from her family line was not enough to keep the overwhelming fury at bay.

Slowly she turned to view the window with heavily lidded eyes and she crossed the floor so then she could peer out at it, her hands lifting to rest her weight upon the window sill. When she had met the Dark Lord, Bellatrix had been but a schoolgirl. Yet she had been confident of her place in the world and he had encouraged her ideals and channelled her skill and power to his cause.

And her repayment of his teachings had been failure.

The words echoed inside of her head as she lifted her hands so then to push on the window pane, pushing the window open so then she could let the air drift into the room. As the wind drifted in, she lifted her chin just a little so then she could feel the wind's playful caress across her pale skin.

The glass of the window panes rattled, a warning that her frustration was dangerously close to surpassing her limits of magical control. Years in Azkaban had caused more damage than she cared to admit. But how much, she wondered. Was she damaged? Had her wardens' own detest full magic rendered her incapable of fulfilling her potential in the inner circle? A crack appeared. A sliver of glass narrowly missed her eye.

The witch inhaled, drawing in the the oxygen in the crisp night wind, feeling this activity expand her lungs before she exhaled and she repeated this process a couple more times. She had to calm down, she knew it, but she just wanted to revert back to her basic nature of survival.

Her father had, since childhood, instilled a strong sense of pride in her supremacy over all, be they muggles, half-breeds, mudbloods, or half-bloods. Even most pureblood families were beneath her.

With her failure, however, she was troubled by the knowledge that her position as one of the Dark Lord's favourites was in jeopardy, if not already lost. She had a limited window of opportunity to reassert herself. She could not remain trapped in this room.

A frown creased her forehead at this thought and she turned away from the window to view the door, she felt tinges of despair colour her fury. He had risked exposure to break her out of the wizarding prison. He had risked his cause to see her free.

Yet her gratefulness for his mercy had been shown only in failure.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: so my train has been delayed by an hour and a half and I have nothing better to do than sit here and write something. It takes too much internet to access any RP sites and I can write this offline so... here goes. The next in this delightful tale. People might not like what I've done with Voldemort here... a bit OOC, you might argue? Yes, perhaps. I imagine the ripping of his soul also contributed to the disintegration of his mind, causing what we see in the books a mild insanity. However I like Tom Riddle's control, and I don't want to believe that that was entirely lost. A villain has to be more than mad to make him terrifying, so here's an insight into what I perceive to be Voldemort's more rational mindset.

Also.. yay reviews! Thank you.. hugs and kisses! I've developed what I think is a horribly twisted punishment for Bella... and you might not understand it for quite a while o.O hopefully it will be worth it!

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

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The Dark Lord was furious. He had been for some time. The compulsive, obstinate Death Eater had had the immortal wizard at a loss of his desperately coveted Prophecy. The prophecy that the Boy Who Lived had accidentally destroyed, once again thwarting him.

Harry Potter was slowly growing to be more than a thorn in his side... worse, the fifteen year old and his pathetic friends - a group of weak, untrained children - had outsmarted his Death Eaters until the arrival of the Order of the Phoenix.

Alone in a darkened room, save for his latest Horcrux, the man who was once known as Tom Riddle cursed his poor judgement. It was his own foolish mistake to trust such an important task to even his most trusted and loyal. Sending Bellatrix with the others was, perhaps, his biggest lapse in judgement.

He remembered the young woman he had once seduced to his cause, a young woman brimming with magical potential, already fully aligned with his political ambitions. Bellatrix had once been refined, intelligent and ambitious. Her strategic mind was nigh on unparalleled. A perfect Slytherin. A perfect pureblood. A perfect weapon.

How far she had fallen.

Crimson eyes illuminated by the kindling fire, he was surprised to find a sliver of regret mingled with his wrath. Her unwavering devotion to him knew no bounds, Voldemort needed no use of legilimency to see that in her eyes. But loyalty was worth only as much as the usefulness of the servant.

For the first time since removing her from the poison of Azkaban, the Dark Lord doubted Bellatrix Lestrange. The debacle at the Ministry had made painfully obvious just how twisted and mangled her mind had become.

Was her mind beyond the point of salvage, though?

He had stepped in at the Ministry because of his desire to answer that question. Her own brash actions, which had led to exacerbation of an already terrible situation, could not take entire responsibility for the failed mission. But they contributed substantially.

He would not suffer her return to the clutches of the dementors. A second term in the wizarding prison would leave her broken beyond repair, rendering her useless. His eyes narrowed. No. That thought was beyond unacceptable to him. He had dedicated far too much time to her training and development to have it all wasted. Bellatrix was rightfully his, and she would remain as such.

For now, at least, he could hold hope that the brilliant student he had first met was in there somewhere.

Yet the stubborn, self-involved creature seemed not to realise the severity of her situation, she had seemed to either be unaware, or unwilling to accept, that her life had been forfeited to Voldemort, as it had been since accepting his mark decades ago. She owed her life to him, bound to serve him, yet she her determination to please him was marred by an inability to obey him at every opportunity.

The most recent infraction that he had learnt of was perhaps the most insulting to his pride. He had, in his own lack of comprehension, thought her suitable for this task. Rationally, it was his fault as much as hers.

Yet the woman would be disciplined. The question he now had to answer was how.

Nagini hissed softly as she curled around the back of the seat, her tail brushing lightly along her companion's body. Much like the serpent, Bellatrix had become a very tactile creature, no doubt from years of isolation.

It was for this reason that he had left her in a secluded part of the house, alone, with nothing but her destructive thoughts for company. Once a confident and independently capable individual, she could no longer stand solitude, thus the perfect punishment had begun.

Approximately five hours had passed since their return from the Ministry of Magic, and his remaining servants had been promptly dismissed before anger overwhelmed his calm façade and curses flew.

For many, the Cruciatus Curse was enough of a punishment, and it worked unparalleled wonders in maintaining discipline and fear within the ranks. The curse was also the most effective way of satiating his sadistic urges. This was not one of those times.

For the sheer amount of similarities between himself and Bella, there was one area in which he and his servant were polar opposites. Bellatrix had always displayed extreme forms of masochism - enough to match her desire to deliver pain.

His usual techniques were ineffectual, possibly even counter-productive, when used on the Black daughter, for she craved being of value to her master. His numerous studies of her mind in the past had found that Bellatrix found immense pleasure - of an almost sensual nature - in physical punishment. He had not been surprised to discover the rationale behind this: Voldemort relished inflicting said pain, and she relished being the reason for his enjoyment.

Perhaps it was a further reason for why he had always favoured her. Despite her devotion, she needed more that the average Death Eater did to keep her motivated, to keep her in line. Pain was not a controlling factor, and it was her own intelligence that aligned her to him, and kept her there, rather than fear. She never bored him.

As the embers finally dissipated, Lord Voldemort pushed himself gracefully to his feet and treaded lightly down the corridor to where his detainee waited. Subtle manipulation had moulded her originally, and it would be the same methods to return her to brilliance.

Bellatrix would suffer for his disappointment, but he would not employ physical pain.

It had a deliberate decision to lock the door manually, rather than by arcane means. Isolation had also left his Death Eater overly sensitive to all around her. The harsh sound of metal churning against metal would remind her of her failure.

He pulled out a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock, twisting it and pushing to reveal his sparsely occupied room and servant. He gave her a quick once over, his expression impassive, eyes cold. He turned away and placed the key on the table in the far corner, raising his free hand to release the clasp on his cloak and drape it over his chair.

"Kneel, Bella."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far! Was trying to work out how long this story would be as I wrote this... it's a finite tale, and I think ultimately, I'm looking at a 10 chapter type thing, unless I feel like I get to the end of my planned punishment and I think I've sold Voldemort's sadism (and thus my own creativity) short. I guess we'll find out... I'm struggling quite a bit with getting the logic right in the actual punishment. Far easier to rationalise physical pain and make it work, but I've made it clear already that that is not how this will be going. Anyway. Another from dear ol' Tom's perspective here. Need to work on his characterisation a little bit now. Though I like the language I give him..

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

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Facing away from his servant, Lord Voldemort took a moment to smooth out the creases in his cloak, which rested against the back of a chair. Other than the three syllables uttered, he continued to appear to ignore her, as if indifferent to her actions. In truth, he listened with immense satisfaction as he heard the woman instantly fall to the ground.

It was an ungraceful sound, the witch's robes barely muffling the loud thump that her knees made as they impacted with the ground. He had been mentally preparing himself for this for the past two hours – emptying his mind as he had learnt as a younger boy. He had also spent the time debating how to address the situation.

More times than he cared to admit, he had considered the benefits of breaking her down, and destroying her spirit until he was left with nothing but an empty case, which he could then build up again into something that pleased him once more. Making her feel valued was not an option.

The problem was that the Dark Lord knew nothing about the creature that had been returned into his service after such a length apart. He knew nothing of what effects the torments of the dementors had on her specifically, for he had not yet had the need to delve into her mind.

While obedient, she wasn't particularly unmanageable, yet there was no doubt that his ex-student was incredibly dangerous in the right frame of mind, and even more so in this volatile state. It was an interesting situation that he found himself in, for he knew of his ultimate dominance over her, but he could not ensure a regular behaviour. He was nonetheless keen not to trigger an adverse reaction, lest it stunt any progress he might make with her.

Turning, the Dark Lord was fought not to raise a brow at what he was sure was an attempt at an aesthetically pleasing position for him to admire. Though Bellatrix's head was bowed so it mattered not. For him, the position was about a display of willing submission. He did not care how it happened, or the intricacies of the way she rested before him. All that mattered was the _why_.

He stepped forward, and he noticed how the woman's breathing hitched when his bare feet came into her field of view. "Look at me, Bellatrix," his voice was soft, forcibly so, as he fought the very acute desire to hurt the girl, to watch her suffer for the sake of instant gratification.

Raising his arm, two fingers trailed long the escapee's hairline, down her forehead and cheek, as he reached deep into the shallow pool of patience and calm that resided within him and called forth some of that energy.

Though it was clearly an act of defiance on her part, which irked him, Voldemort was glad that Bellatrix had instantly met his gaze and, surprisingly, held it. It meant less work for him as he wordlessly legilimised his faithful servant for the first time since her escape, intent on using the continued sense of touch to keep her defences down.

Though a skilled occlumens in her own right, her skill was entirely at the mercy of her instructor. The Dark Lord had prepared her in ways that her family had not. It was this which allowed him confidence in the knowledge that he knew her weaknesses, and had always been capable of breaking her shields, where others would not not.

Images, memories and emotions flew past as he skimmed the surface of his most brilliant student's consciousness before delving deeper. Focusing specifically, Bellatrix could not fortify her mind against such a powerful onslaught, and Voldemort witnessed, as if first hand, just how much his most faithful servant had suffered in his name.

It would have been a lie for Voldemort to say that he was horrified on behalf of his servant for the atrocities that her mind suffered. He was not entirely void of emotion, and knew well the torments that the dementors so easily brought upon their victims. No, though he could appreciate the years Bellatrix had given to him in not renouncing him, he could feel no sympathy for her. He did, however, have a small swelling of pride, pride for his student who had not been completely broken in the wizarding prison.

"You have sacrificed much for me, Bellatrix." The tone with which he spoke was slow, and clear. There was a softness to his voice that allowed for an element of praise for the woman, but there was also a hardness, one which was ever present around the servants of the Dark.

The woman needed to be aware of the gravity of the situation, of how disappointed her master was. "But that is no justification for your recent behaviour. Devotion is not a necessary and sufficient, condition to usefulness."

Through his touch, and the replaying of her darkest moments and fears, the Dark Lord willed her to feel the guilt of letting him down. The words were designed intensify the sensation of guilt within the selfish mind as his fingers continued to trace along the woman's jaw and neck, "your careless, inconsiderate actions could have been your undoing. Worse, my associates might have suffered far worse punishments because of your recklessness."

Pleased at the tilt of Bellatrix's head as she leaned further into his light caress, he thumbed his finger once more along the woman's porcelain cheek, before he removed his touch completely as he withdrew from her thoughts. The concentration it took to search her mind and direct her thoughts, as well as speak, was too much to maintain. "I am… disappointed to see that reckless behaviour continuing when you disobey my direct commands."

The dark-haired woman opened her mouth to argue - an unexpected display of insolence from one who would normally simpler for approval. However she faltered under his hard, unyielding gaze. "You were given the directive to follow the command of Lucius, were you not?"

"Master, I-"

Bellatrix flinched as cold fury flashed across her lord's eyes, and she once again felt ice radiate from him in waves of unchecked magic, and the black skull-and-snake mark on her arm tingled. "You do not want to test the limits of my mercy today, Bella."

He paused, ensuring her continued silence, and only then did he continue. "Your knowledge of the Ministry and the Potter boy and his friends is severely lacking. The task was a delicate one, better suited to Lucius' talents, and the decision to give command to your brother-in-law was deliberate and tactical."

The tone in his voice made it clear that he was disbelieving of the fact that he needed to explain his reasoning to a servant. "You have proven to me that I cannot trust you with the freedoms I granted."

Releasing her from his gaze, he turned away, hearing a deep exhale escaping from the woman. A mirthless smile crept onto his hidden lips at the knowledge of what she craved, and what she was being refused.

But dealing with Bella was much like cooking a frog; he would place her in luke warm water, and heat it slowly, and it would be too late before she realised her pain. It took immense patience to see genuine suffering from her, but the benefits would be exponential. "This most recent transgression will be your last."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So it's been a while... sorry about that! Erm... well life sort of took over - I've moved countries! And will be starting my Masters next week :) (..if anyone is interested in my life at all ...). In other news, I've been banned as a staffer and a player on an RP website I used to be on, for sticking up for myself and the rest of my staff team against the tyrant admin who rules the site with her trigger-happy ban-hammer. So... I'm still staffing/playing on another but I should have much more time to update. But ultimately my Tom/Harry fic is more fun and has more interest soooo.. I abandoned this for a little while, in favour of focusing on real life. But now I'm back!

Recently had a review about the T rating of this story, and I have to say, I don't really understand the American system. It's very possible that this story _should_ have always been an M rating with what's to come, but maybe not. I don't really understand the finer points. If someone could either send me a PM or write a review giving me an idea of when T becomes M... that would be greatly appreciated. So take this also as a warning that this story might suddenly change ratings, too.

Anyhoo.. happy reading! Please review. Love 'em. They make me more interested in continuing. (Thanks to all who have so far!)

(Also... please bear with me, this chapter -in the grand scheme of the story plot - will make sense soon! Promise! Hopefully...)

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

Bellatrix Lestrange was a member of Lord Voldemort's Inner Circle. His elite. Hand picked before she had even graduated from Hogwarts, Bella had been invited into the ranks and had received training from Voldemort himself. This training enhanced her own skill in dark magic, which (as a Black) had been considered to be natural for her to learn as soon as she was old enough to understand what dark magic was.

She was a fearsome, formidable witch, and carried much respect in her own right among the other Death Eaters, and was considered to be Voldemort's right hand, or she had been before her incarceration. She was glad that none of the Dark Lord's other followers were around to see the tears cascading freely down her cheeks. But there was no shame in letting her master see such a sight.

Still kneeling on the floor - a position she had not been in for over a decade - she was able to ignore the screaming of protest in her thighs, for the myriad of emotions that were brought to the surface after reliving her time in the wizarding prison were mingling with the already-present guilt, and it was almost enough to overwhelm her.

"I apologise, Master. I'm Sorry! I-"

"Of course you're sorry, Bella. You're always sorry after you fail to execute - or even follow - my orders. But that doesn't seem to stop you from doing it in the first place." Her Lord's voice was harsh; she could not detect even the slightest hint of sympathy and understanding from his tone.

"I'm sorry," she repeated desperately, trying to think of some excuse which she could feed him, but then she stopped herself; she respected him far too much than to try to placate him with meaningless reasons for why she couldn't follow through on his commands. But then she came up with something better, a happy accident that she hoped her master would accept, "I killed Black."

"Yesss," the hissing tone was a pleased one, and Bellatrix blinked back the tears, clearing her eyes enough to see the Dark Lord tapping his lips with a long, pale index finger thoughtfully. "The boy is isolated… or he thinks he is. I felt it during those few moments of possession. Dumbledore is more powerful, but from the boy's perspective, he had just lost his most loyal protector."

Bellatrix finally shifted slightly as Voldemort approached her, and her eyes widened as he reached out to take her hand, guiding her to her feet to stand before him. "You're right, Bellatrix. We can claim a small victory in your actions this evening." The woman couldn't believe it. Had she actually gotten away with that?

Her disbelief drifted to the back of her mind as the Dark Lord's fingers released her hand, only to ghost slowly up her arm, over her shoulder and trace her neck before entwining themselves in her thick knots of hair. As they tightened their grasp, Bellatrix had no choice but to tilt her head back as the fingers commanded, so that eventually her gaze was met by crimson orbs.

"That's another thing that never ceases to astound me, Bella." Her Lord's tone was soft, deceptively so, perhaps, but she could detect no hint of malice in his eyes. "For all of your failure to obey, you are surprisingly good at accidentally pleasing me with your mistakes."

Bellatrix loved and hated having her master so close to him, for she found herself intoxicated by his mere presence. She loved him, and the Dark Lord knew it. Perhaps he even knew that, whenever she looked at him, she still only saw the young dark and handsome wizard that he had once been, such was her attraction to him.

She felt almost high, but she was dimly aware that her comprehension and processing abilities were acutely diminished. She focused on his touch, rather than his words. "Master-"

"Sshhh." A pale finger came to rest upon her lips and she ceased immediately, obeying the touch. The finger shifted, and the touch was replaced elsewhere for a thumb, which rubbed gently against her cheek. "Don't speak. Show me once again how your actions might please me."

There was no need to ask her twice. She moved forwards, without waiting for an invitation, and wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes flicking rapidly between his lips and eyes, such that it seemed as if she was being electrocuted.

As if he had read her mind, he seemed to know that she needed slightly more encouragement, though. His hands left her face, trailing at a much more urgent pace down her body once again, coming to rest on her hips, where they squeezed.

With the gentle grace of a god he summoned Bellatrix towards him, and she accepted his gifts with total and undying faith, allowing him to forcefully pull their bodies together. She bit her lip eagerly. There was heat between them, and the corners of Lord Voldemort's lips curled into a smile as his servant's breathing hitched. It took no more for her lips to come crashing in against his.

For a moment Bellatrix's brain shut down, and the pure ecstasy of their shape-shifting mouths swirling and puckering with each delicious smack of escaping air overcame the woman's entire body. The first kissed remained like this, unpracticed and raw, they screamed of urgency, desperation.

It had been… _years_ … since her lips had met with the warm, soft sensation of another's, and Bella's kissed were urgent; with each second that passed, it was like a drug coursing through her system , a drug that was addicting, one which she couldn't get enough of. Every inch of her body warned her to never let go, for it feared that it would never fully satisfy this previously dormant craving.


End file.
